


The Backstory Files

by autobotscoutriella



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I'll add some happy ones to this one day, Minor Character Death, Originally Posted on Tumblr, apparently Riella doesn't get much in the way of happiness these days, this is not the most cheerful of drabble collections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autobotscoutriella/pseuds/autobotscoutriella
Summary: Original character development/backstory one-shots originally written for a Tumblr roleplay blog, collected and cross-posted here for readability and archiving. Canon characters appear occasionally in pieces written for specific prompts or events.Individual chapters vary drastically in tone, so warnings are posted at the beginning of each chapter rather than on the collection as a whole.





	1. Unwritten Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is a semi-organized collection of ficlets/drabbles I've written to flesh out backstory or explore different concepts as part of [this roleplay blog](http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/). They were all originally posted on Tumblr, but I've had a few people ask if I ever plan to cross-post them here; it seemed like a decent way to get comfortable with using AO3 before I start posting actual long fic again.
> 
> Chapters are posted roughly in chronological order rather than writing order; older stuff may show up in later chapters due to the events being more recent in-universe.
> 
> People who came here from Tumblr will probably notice there are quite a few ficlets not included in this collection. The actively shippy stuff will be posted elsewhere, to give people who are just here for the backstory or aren't fans of OC/Canon ships the option to avoid it. There's hints of background ships here, but nothing focused explicitly on romantic relationships.

“So, you pick a lot of fights?”

Riella glanced up from her energon and blinked at the strange mech standing over her, confusion and a hint of annoyance written across her expression. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

“Your hands.” The mech dropped into the seat opposite hers and set his own energon cube on the table before gesturing at her fingers. “You got dents, scrapes, even a chip off the middle knuckle joint there. To me, that says you spend a lotta time hitting things. Bot your size and build isn’t gonna be working demolition, and I can’t see Gamma Ray putting you in full-contact sparring matches just yet, so that leaves me to guess you probably seek it out. So one more time: you pick a lot of fights?”

“No,” Riella huffed, folding her arms and tucking her battered hands out of sight. “Who the Pit are you and what d'you want?”

“Signal Flare. Medic. I assume you’re new here.” He paused and took a long gulp of energon before continuing. “So, who’d you hit, and am I gonna see them in my medbay by the end of today?”

“I don’t remember inviting you to sit down.” Riella kept her hands out of view and glared across the table at the wall behind him. “Who says I hit anyone? Maybe I’m just clumsy and keep nicking my fingers on things.”

“Well, you’re not,” Signal Flare retorted, in an all-too-reasonable tone. “Scuffles happen, and it’s a small base. Stories travel fast. Did he start it, or did you?”

Riella sighed, dropped her gaze just far enough to stare at the table, and muttered, “I started the argument, he hit first, I hit back harder. But he had it  _coming_. Besides, Electron broke it up, and nobody was bleeding too bad, so where’s the problem?”

“Energon involved and you didn’t drop by the medbay? You really know how to play it safe, kid.” Signal Flare rolled his optics. “Who ended up bleeding, you or him?”

Riella huffed a little and lifted her chin again to stare. “What’s it matter? Nobody ended up in the medbay, and  _somebody_ had to hit him.”

“Well, it  matters because one of you–probably you, if I heard right–is gonna be limping around for a couple of days. You _should’ve_  shown up at the medbay.” The medic rested an elbow on the table. “You ever think about, I don’t know,  _not_  picking a fight?”

“No.” Riella slumped back in her chair and gulped down half her energon at once. “If you already heard, you should already know that he deserved to get shouted down, I just got there first. Him throwing a punch just meant I got to hit him back.”

“And the idea of walking away and letting him talk never occurred to you because…?” Signal Flare looked her over pointedly. “He wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“But he could’ve.” Riella blinked, shrugged a little, and went back to her drink. “Anyway, ’s none of your business. So I picked up a few dents and gave a few more. It’s over, I’ve been cussed out by the CO, lesson learned. What more d'you want?”

Signal Flare heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The soldiers under my care to show a little concern for their own well-being, is that too much to ask?”

“I  _did_. If I’d actually gotten hurt, I’d’ve gone to the medbay. I assume he would’ve, too.” Riella glared into her energon cube. “I’m not hurt. That’s what self-repairs are for. Why’d you come over here to ask me questions if you already know all the answers?”

“Because I wanted to. Do you always snip at people who try to check up on you?”

That stung. Riella huffed a little bit and sat back. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be  _snippy_. I don’t understand why you’re asking questions you already know the answer to. I told you I’m fine. Why does everyone keep checking up on me? Go poke at the guy I hit for a change.”

“I’m sure someone is.” Signal Flare rested his other elbow on the table and crossed his arms. “You’re a new transfer, right? How long you been in the army?”

“Since Altihex fell.” Riella mirrored his pose, as much as possible with a much smaller frame. “What’s that matter?”

“Altihex? Really?” Signal Flare looked visibly taken aback, and more than a little skeptical. “You’re a little young to have been in that long, aren’t you?”

“Not according to the records.” That part was true, even if the record in question wasn’t. “How’s  _that_ any of your business?”

“Just something to consider.” Signal Flare shrugged and settled back into his chair. “Listen, kid, I know you’re not new to the army, but you  _are_  new to this unit, so let me tell you how things work here.”

“Don’t call me  _kid_ ,” Riella protested, only for the medic to silence her with a stern gesture.

“I’m not done. Here, we do things without picking fights as far as we can. You want to start a fight, do it on the battlefield. You have a problem with a squadmate, you talk it out, with the CO if you can’t help but throw a punch. It’s an unwritten rule, but it’s there. So do me a favor and stick to it. You hear me?”

Riella went quiet, stared mutinously at the table, and muttered, “ _Why?_  I can handle my own problems.”

“Oh, clearly. You’re handling them so well you bashed open your knuckles on them.” The medic’s tone was impressively dry. “All I’m saying is, doesn’t have to be that way. You’re used to being one more face in a crowd, right? Worked with bigger squads, bigger units?”

“So?” Riella shifted in her seat, not entirely happy with how easily Signal Flare had managed to read her so far.

“So you’re used to handling it yourself, however you have to. That’s fine, but it won’t work here. Gamma Ray’s a good mech. Talk to her before you start throwing punches. You hear me?” He rose without waiting for an answer, scooping up his empty energon cube. “Small unit like this, nobody can afford to make enemies. Gotta learn how to work with a team on  _and_  off duty. And show up at the medbay so I can patch up those knuckles!” The last sentence was shouted from halfway across the mess hall, but no less firm. “By sundown!”

Riella vented slowly and sat back in the oversized chair, staring at her battered hands and the energon cube they were wrapped around. He was out of range to hear her reluctant, but sincere, reply. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riella and Signal Flare are both my original characters; Signal Flare shares a name with a canon character, because I thought I'd been creative and only looked it up on TFWiki after I'd already written some things including him. Oops.
> 
> Originally posted here: http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/147011252311/unwritten-rules


	2. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Melody is mostly a posthumous character on Tumblr, I haven't written a lot with her and Riella, which is unfortunate. She's fun to write.

Riella knew she should be paying attention to the movements of the bladed staff, not the mech wielding it. Melody rarely gave demonstrations--in fact, Riella couldn't think of a single time she'd seen the reserved purple flier training anywhere publicly visible, let alone agreeing to be watched. She should be making the most of this and learning.

But Primus, it was hard to focus on a weapon, even a unique one, when Melody's frame was gliding through elegant twisting forms at dizzying speed. She couldn't keep her attention on the blades when every spin of the staff sent rippling reflections across Melody's dark plating, little bursts of iridescence flashing whenever one crossed a dimmed biolight--

One curved blade flashed past Riella's face and slammed deep into the bench she was sitting on, metal splitting cleanly all the way to the edge. Riella yelped and jumped back, nearly tripping on the bench in the process. "Primus, Mel--!"

"Something else on your processor?" Melody's voice was almost perfectly even, but something that might have been an undertone of amusement lurked beneath it. "Maybe now isn't the best time?"

"No! No, it's fine. It's all good." Riella straightened herself up and frantically brushed imaginary dust specks off her plating, scrambling to the nearest intact bench. "I'm sorry. I wasn't--I was--I'm a little tired, that's--I didn't--I can pay attention."

"All right, all right, don't hurt yourself." Melody waved off the little blue mech's stammering apologies and returned to the center of the practice square. "Actually..." She tilted her helm, expression enigmatic and unreadable. "Maybe that'll keep you focused. C'mere."

"...What are you doing?" Riella obediently hopped off the bench and started toward her anyway, despite the distinct sense that whatever happened next was going to land someone in the medbay. "Is this going to hurt?"

"Not so long as you pay attention." Melody's lips curved in an innocent smile. That couldn't possibly mean anything good. "I've seen you training. It looks to me like you learn best from hands-on work, so maybe you'll focus a little better if you have to think on your feet. You've got knives--those will counter this pretty well, with some practice."

 _She watches me train?_ Riella's processor stuck on that, and she jerked back into focus just in time to dodge a sweep of the long staff. "I'm good! I'm watching. Show me what we're doing."

This time, Melody did laugh, drawing the staff back into a casual guard position. "I just told you what we're doing. This is a simple attack. You should be able to use a simple block. Catch the blade when it swings around with one knife, and use the other to redirect it. Clear?"

 _She's training with me? She's teaching me?_ Riella took a split-second to process that, grabbing for her knives in the process. "Okay--okay, clear. I got it."

The staff swept forward again, and this time she kept an optic on it.

Three hours and a handful of minor dents later, Riella couldn't help a huge grin despite her exhaustion. "I'm getting it! I got it! Did you see that?"

"There's no possible way I could miss it," Melody told her dryly, swinging the staff around so quickly Riella had to jump back. A faint smile tugged at her mouth, in spite of her tone. "You're doing good. One more time?"

"Riella! Melody!" Gamma Ray's voice echoed off the walls of the practice square. "Riella, aren't you supposed to be going over your scouting routes for tonight?"

"I didn't think that was until..." Riella started to protest, and trailed off at the look on Gamma Ray's face. Even through the visor, it was clear she wasn't happy. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Gamma Ray made her way into the square and stopped between the two of them, gesturing toward the door. "I just need a word with Melody. Go on, now. Patrol routes."

"Okay, okay." Even the abrupt ending to the sparring match couldn't quite dampen her enthusiasm, and Riella didn't bother to smother her smile on the way out.

_She wanted to train with me. With me! She noticed!_

Absolutely nothing could have crushed her happiness at that moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was originally posted as part of a flashback sequence, so there were other scenes attached to it; this is the only one I wrote completely, so there's no link to the full original.


	3. Gone

Gamma Ray had spent so much of her life with her conjunx’s presence attached to her spark that when it vanished, the absence hit with the cold searing numbness of a suddenly amputated limb.

_Delta._

She hit the floor on hands and knees before she even realized she was falling. Beside her, a datapad bounced once and shattered, thin fragments of semi-transparent metal scattering across the floor. The chair a few feet away rattled against the bolts holding it to the ground.

_Delta._

The nothingness where his spark had been seconds before only widened, ripping open like metal shredding under a pressure wave. Heavy blunt fingertips dug furrows into the steel floor, leaving white marks under each hand. Gamma Ray barely heard the sound of bending metal or the shout from someone running to see what had happened. The floor blurred in front of her.

_Delta._

“Get me the communications officer on duty,” she rasped, lifting her head to glare at the hapless little twig of a medical aide hovering in the doorway. “Now.”

“Ma'am–Sergeant–are you sure you’re all right?”

“ _Now,_ ” she snarled, pushing herself upright on shaking feet. Her hands were bloody. She wasn’t sure why. “No, never mind, I’ll go myself. Out of my way.”

“Ma'am, I’ll get him, but you should sit down. Your injury–”

“ _Out of my way._ ” Gamma Ray shoved past him without a thought, stumbling into a limping run a few steps into the hallway. There must have been soldiers in  the hallway, it was rarely empty, but if anyone was there, they must have known to move.

_Delta._

She nearly knocked the door to the communication center off its hinges, sending a shudder through the walls. Startled comm techs scattered, knocking over chairs in the process of getting up. “Get my team on the comm lines, now!” It came out hoarse, as if she’d been swallowing gravel and broken glass. “ _Now!_ ”

“Sergeant–” The senior comm tech must have seen something on her face, because he stopped in mid-sentence and gestured at the nearest tech. “Make contact with A217.”

She knew what they would find. Delta wouldn’t answer. No matter how desperately she hoped, the rising, burning throb in her spark told her otherwise. But her team–her team–

“Sergeant, they’re not answering. I’ve tried all four.” The tech stared at the floor, shifting uncomfortably. “Could be they’re out of range, or they’re still on comm silence–”

“No.” Gamma Ray’s knee finally started to wobble, little shocks of pain traveling up her thigh. It was promptly drowned out by the wave of overwhelming agony as the absence of her spark’s other half finally sank home. “It won’t do any good.”

“Sergeant, we’re not out of options yet. It could be any number of things–”

“It’s not.” Gamma Ray stared at energon-marked hands through blurry static. When her knees hit the floor again, the jolt barely registered.

_Delta._

“They’re gone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only drabble posted on a different blog than Riella's--it was originally here: https://gxmmarxy.tumblr.com/post/173864297887/gone


	4. Disconnect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with the fallout of some psychological malpractice, so if that's not your thing, I'd recommend skipping it and the next two. 
> 
> The actual incident was roleplayed out rather than being written in drabble form--essentially, Riella was suspected of having sold out her team and possibly Autobot secrets to save her own life (since she couldn't explain why the youngest and least-ranked member of her team survived when no one else did) and her PTSD symptoms were taken as deliberate attempts to undermine Command. She was briefly exiled and most of her psychiatric treatment consisted of experimental methods intended to convince her to admit she'd betrayed them and 'fix' her symptoms so she would be a better soldier again; someone higher-up eventually stepped in, shut it down, and had her reassigned elsewhere, but most of the damage was done. That's the context for this and the two following drabbles.

"Commander, I'm sorry to call on short notice, but we need to talk."

Gamma Ray stared levelly at the image on the video screen, frowning. "Not a good time, doc."

"I apologize, but I wouldn't call if this was something that could wait." Echo checked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was in her tiny makeshift medbay before turning her full attention to the screen. "Do you remember Riella? A scout who served under you a few years back?"

"Riella?" Gamma Ray's visor flickered briefly in what might have been concern or annoyance. "Of course I do. One of my best, before Vos. She in trouble again?"

Well, _that_ reaction wasn't a good sign. "She's been in trouble--the kind of trouble she didn't ask for--for a long time, Commander.” _Tread carefully, Echo_. "Medic-patient confidentiality means I can't specify what's going on, of course, but I hoped you might be willing to help me anyway."

"Of course, I'll do whatever I can." The slightly shifting tone hinted at surprise, though Gamma Ray's expression didn't. "Though I don't see how I can offer much. She hasn't been under my command for a long time, and hasn't spoken to me in years."

"I understand." Echo had been afraid of that response, but it wasn’t a flat no, at least. “I’m not asking for much. I just have to be able to check up on her health somehow. Convince her that it won’t do any _harm_ to talk to a medic once in a while. I was hoping you might know how to do that.”

"Maybe. Maybe not." The massive 'bot shrugged, expression shifting toward something strained. "Riella's always been hard to reach out to. Got in too young, picked up the idea that she had to operate at a hundred-ten percent all the time, never quite shook it. Wasn't much we could do to change how she saw things. You're not gonna manage it, either. And ever since she lost her unit, well--" She trailed off and glanced down at the desk, her first hint of real emotion. "Kid lost it. That's not her fault, but I can't do anything about that."

"Maybe you can." There was a lot of history in that sigh, and Echo knew she wasn’t going to get an explanation of it anytime soon. "Riella's not...reports aside, she’s perfectly aware of what’s going on around her. She knows what she did and didn’t do. She’s not—mistakes were made in the diagnosing process when she came back."

"That all? Vector Sigma, _I_ could've told you that." Gamma Ray snorted. "I know she's not crazy. I've always known that, and if I'd had any doubts, they'd have been cleared up when my medic confirmed she wasn't any more unbalanced than usual. She's impulsive, stubborn as a concrete wall, and so damn _young_ , but she's not crazy."

"Does she know you know that?" Echo prodded cautiously. "The support might help, even if she isn't under your command anymore."

Gamma Ray heaved a sigh and leaned back in her chair. "Riella hasn't spoken to me since she came back from Vos, other than to confirm that Delta, Melody, and Electron were dead and to get her transfer orders when they came through. I tried to give her space. If she doesn't want to hear from me, I'll respect that. Of course I wish that was different, but it’s not."

Well, that stoicism explained where Riella got it. "When's the last time you saw her?"

"When she transferred out. I wanted to come when they kicked her out." The visor flickered several shades darker, and Gamma Ray's tone hardened almost imperceptibly. "I was told I wasn't _allowed_. It took a fight to get Signal Flare out there, and even then he wasn't allowed to offer any kind of actual assistance. Guess High Command thinks wounded scouts are an active threat now."

That was treading into angry psychological territory, well outside of Echo’s area of expertise. She dealt with frames, not processors, but even she could read between the lines. "You really care about her, don't you?"

"Of _course_ I care." Gamma Ray vented slowly and rested both hands deliberately on her desk. "Or I would, if she'd let me, and if she wasn't apparently in permanent trouble with High Command. Get to the point, Doctor. What do you want from me?"

"I need your help." Echo leaned forward a little, trying not to show the sudden surge of hope. "Riella needs someone to talk to more than she needs someone physically checking up on her. I can only do so much. I’ve told her she can talk to me, but of course she won’t.”

"There’s any number of mechs on the base that she has no ugly history with who should be decent listeners. Why not find someone else? Why call me?"

This was where the request got harder. Confidentiality rules still applied, more than _ever_ with a patient who’d dealt with a serious betrayal from someone she should have been able to trust. "Well, maybe that history will…help.” Not enough. "Are you familiar with Riella's...general method of dealing with stress?"

"The part where she pretends it doesn't exist, or the part where it finally catches up with her?" Gamma Ray appeared to be studying Echo's face for a hint of what she was getting at. "Riella doesn't deal with stress. She ignores it until it all finally crashes down on her head, she can't play 'okay' anymore, and... _oh_." She let out another slow vent and let her helm drop back. "She's lashing out, isn't she. Verbal or physical?"

"I...can't discuss specifics." Echo shifted uncomfortably. "But I can say that if she _were_ to start something physical—" which, unfortunately, seemed likely "--then I can safely say it wouldn't end well for her. She needs someone she can trust _and_ someone who's not likely to be pressured to report back on her." That might have been a step too far. She’d apologize to Riella for it someday.

"So you want me to come down there and try to drill some common sense into her before she gets herself kicked out again. No, don't confirm--I can read between lines well enough." Gamma Ray sighed. "You know I might very well make it worse?"

Echo shook her head slowly, optics locking with Gamma Ray's visor. "I don't believe you _can_ make it worse, Commander."

Gamma Ray turned her head away, visor dimming. "Damn it. _Damn_ it, Riella, you stubborn _idiot._ I'll be on the next shuttle to Protihex. Tell her I'm coming--for Primus' sake, don't spring it on her."                                 

"I will, if I see her," Echo promised. "She doesn't speak to me unless forced, and she's...inconsistent about showing up for checkups, even when she’s hurt. But I'll see to it she knows."

"Thanks." Gamma Ray reached for the power switch on the screen, but paused before ending the call. "Doctor, one request? Whatever incident you're obligated to report, delay it until I get there. I know you have to pass it on, and I won't argue that. But from what Signal Flare told me about how things went down for Riella last time she crossed a line with Command--well, look, I'm doing you a favor by coming down there. You owe me. If it's as bad as you're saying, she's going to need someone willing to stand up for her."

"There's a reason I called you first." Echo breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you, Commander. I'll see you tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, but under a different title. The actual text has been significantly edited since.


	5. Short Fuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides dealing with the same psychological-malpractice fallout from the previous ficlet, this one features heavy human-style cursing (canon curse words didn't have the impact I wanted) and lots of angry italics. Riella wasn't terribly pleasant to be around at this point.

The only good thing about being reassigned to an understaffed, barely-necessary base in the middle of the Protihexi frontier was that the speed-test range was almost always deserted. Maybe the required long patrols provided enough exercise for the bots assigned to them, or maybe the heavy front-liners who made up most of the base personnel just didn't care to spend extensive amounts of time driving. Riella didn't know their reasoning, and didn't care to ask about it.

The important part was that she had a wide speed-test range, completely empty, to use whenever she wasn't on shift; and after spending months trapped in a room barely large enough to pace in, she was desperate for _any_ kind of exercise. She could spend hours on the range, driving until her struts ached and her wheels were shaky with exhaustion, and often did--it was, sometimes, the only way to burn off the overwhelming emotion that frequently built up with no outlet.

This time, she'd been driving for almost four hours, and the pent-up rage still hadn't cooled. Black tire streaks marked the points where she'd tested her brakes and then acceleration, and blue paint traces indicated that she hadn't always managed to stay upright when pushing her ability to turn or transform at high speed to its limits.

The matching scratches along her sides and wear points on her tires would undoubtedly hurt, later. At the moment, she couldn't feel anything, beyond the adrenaline rush that wasn't quite enough to drown out the internal hurricane of emotion. Why wouldn't everyone just  _shut up_? Could she go through  _one day_ without hearing whispers and speculation and comments that clearly were meant to be spoken after she was out of audio range?

Was the rest of the army  _ever_  going to drop what had happened to her? She'd  _tried_ , damn it--she was  _still_  trying!--and would it  _kill_  them to just leave her alone for one day?

_Fuck you, Prowl, and Smokescreen, and everyone else too._

Given the chance, she would have kept driving for hours longer. Hunger had stopped registering before she ever completed her shift, and there was no way she'd be sleeping. If she'd had the option, she would have kept driving through the night, or until she collapsed from pushing every system further than it could go.

Unfortunately, the bright green medic staring sternly at her from just behind the safety barricade probably wasn't going to let her get away with that.

Riella transformed and stared back at Echo, folding her arms defensively. "Checkup's not until tomorrow at 1500. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, good, you know when it is. I was starting to wonder, since you're never on time." Echo stepped carefully over the barricade and looked Riella over, not missing a single scrape or dent. "Everything all right?"

"You can ask me that tomorrow," Riella huffed. "This is downtime. I'm not going to spend it with you picking at dents. What do you want?"

"Maybe I just wanted to drive for a bit, since outside is restricted. There's no need to be hostile--I'm not trying to push, I only wanted to know if you're all right. It's a little ominous when someone comes out and drives like that for hours." Echo shrugged and glanced out across the track. "Something happen on-shift?"

Riella's jaw locked and her engine ground audibly. "Even if it did, it would be none of your business. I'm going to the washracks."

"Careful with heat in there—you’ve burned out some circuitry," Echo noted mildly. “You must have pushed your top speed pretty hard. Break any records?"

Riella stopped in mid-step and spun on her heel to face Echo, optics narrowing angrily. "Don't mock me. All right? Don't. I know Command likes you, so you get to cross all the lines you want, but  _don't_ fucking mock me."

"Easy, Riella." Echo raised a placating hand. "I'm not mocking you. It was an honest question, but if it's a sensitive subject, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Oh,  _right,_  you didn't know. Because you always know exactly what I did and why I did it and what I thought about it, but the minute I tell you you've crossed a line, it's all  _ignorance as a good excuse_  and  _how dare I_ not like it!” Riella's fingertips ground into her palms so hard it hurt. "What, it's a crime when  _I_  can't read your mind and know you didn’t want me to do something, but Primus forbid anyone ever suggest  _you_  might get something wrong?"

Echo vented slowly, took a step back, and gestured toward the central barracks. "Okay, Riella, you’re right. It’s none of my business. Go get some rest. If you want something for that burnt circuitry, stop by the medbay, all right? Otherwise we’ll just leave it.”

" _Right_. Because stopping by to let _you_ poke at that circuitry is going to do me any good. I know what I need, but no, you medical nutjobs are  _so_  good at addressing the actual issues, and you would  _never_  sideline them in favor of pushing your own pet theory." Riella rolled her optics and stalked away, engine still growling in frustration. "Go play your stupid head games with someone  _else_  for a while."

"I'm not playing games, Riella. I'm trying to help, that's all."

The comment was quiet enough that it probably hadn't been intended to be audible, but Riella caught it--or most of it--and found herself rounding on Echo again. The fury that had been quietly building since the beginning of her shift finally snapped.

" _Help?_  You think this is  _helping_? That's what you think this is, you're some kind of-- _savior_  trying to rescue the pitiful little trauma case? Because you know  _so much better_  than I do what I think and feel and what I've dealt with? Fuck off!"

"Riella,  _calm down_ ," Echo repeated, taking another step back. The movement appeared to be involuntary. "Calm down. I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it, we can, but this isn’t really a good time or place to do it.”

"It's  _never_  the time or place!" Riella slammed a hand down on top of the barricade next to her, denting the light metal, and clamped her fingers down over it to keep from physically lashing out. "Because you and Smokescreen and the rest of you fucking incompetent Command pets are  _never_  wrong, so if someone says you are,  _obviously_  they're delusional and can be dismissed,  _right?"_

"I'm not saying that." Echo's tone remained surprisingly calm, which only drove Riella's frustration higher. "And if someone said that, I’ll deal with it. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to yell about this out here where half the base can hear you. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

"No we  _won't_!" Riella's voice rose to something dangerously near a scream. "Because no one  _ever does_! You want to tell me how badly I fucked up this time? Want to add on to the speculation I'm a traitor or crazy or  _both_? Take your best _fucking_  shot, because I am  _tired_ of everyone talking at me like I'm not even here!" Metal screeched as her fingertips dug into the barricade, leaving dents and traces of blue. "I'm  _not_  playing your stupid game anymore! I'm  _done_! Go screw with someone else!"

"Okay, Riella. All right." Echo kept her distance--luckily for both of them--and didn't raise her voice. "Okay. You need to get something out of your system right now, go ahead. If you don't want to talk, we don't have to. But it's really going to help if you calm down."

" _No!_ " Riella turned her head away sharply. She had to calm down. If she panicked again, if she did what every instinct was screaming at her to do and fought back, they’d lock her up again. She tried to force her voice to level out. It didn't work.  "Stop trying to  _handle_  me! Stop trying to brush me off and _make_  everything the way you want it to be! It's  _not_. You're  _wrong_. And you will  _be_  wrong about me for the rest of your life, but who  _cares_  about that, because anyone who’s not me is fucking  _untouchable_! You decide you're right and it doesn't  _matter_  what the truth is!"

"I'm sorry that things have gone that way, Riella, I truly am." When she looked up, Echo was moving closer again, slowly but steadily. "Can we take this inside to the medbay, or at least somewhere that's not the middle of the driving range?"

 _No, no, no, no, no._ Inside was _bad._ Inside made it _all_ too easy to lock her in and never let her out. Riella stayed frozen in place for much longer than she wanted to, until Echo was almost close enough to touch her. Then self-preservation (or paranoia, or whatever they were calling it now) kicked in, just enough that Riella found herself stumbling backward and snapping "Don't  _touch_ me!"

"I'm not," Echo assured her, stopping in place. That time, the medic had _definitely_ flinched. "I'm not, Riella. I'm not. I’m not going to hurt you."

Riella stared at her, glaring, shaking, and exhaustion finally kicked in. If she hadn't had a solid grip on the barricade, she would have fallen. Anger drained as fast as it had flared, leaving her tired and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry.

She couldn’t  _do_  that. She couldn’t  _show_ them how bad it was. She’d already gone too far. Echo was probably already writing up that report mentally, the one that was going to send her back to isolation and then worse.

"I'm going inside," she finally grated out. "By _myself._ I'm going to the washracks. And I’ll deal with the circuitry myself. I’m not showing up to the medbay tomorrow. I'm done with this. I'm  _done._ "

Echo took a step back, and made no move to stop Riella from walking away. "Okay, if that's what you want, that’s fine. You know where I’ll be."

 _Yes_ , it was what she wanted. It was  _never_  that easy. But she didn’t have to show up to be prodded at by a medic, so she wouldn’t. They could come try to pick her apart in isolation again if they wanted.

It took every ounce of her strength to keep her knees steady and her back straight as she walked away, bracing for someone to grab her at any second. She barely made it around the corner and out of Echo’s sight before she collapsed, buried her face in her arms, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has also been significantly edited from the version that was originally posted on Tumblr, mostly because it was one of the oldest things I'd written there and my writing style improved somewhat after it was posted.


	6. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the "post-psychological-malpractice" drabbles, so if you're skipping those, you can pick up with the next chapter.

Riella's comm line pinged with an alert from someone with a Command tag in their ID line. After a moment of reflecting that she really should answer, she dismissed the alert, and the two that followed. There would, undoubtedly, be consequences for that later.

She wished she could say she didn't care anymore. They could blame her for whatever they wanted, no matter how it really happened--and they'd be right about some of it, too. What did it matter if they yelled at her for something she'd actually done? What did it matter if they forced her out for something she didn't? No one was going to stop them, and the end result was the same. So she didn't sell out her team's location--Delta still would have survived if she hadn't been there. Maybe she hadn't told the Decepticons anything--but that didn't mean Melody's energon wasn't on her hands. So what if she ignored an order or two? They were going to force her out over something she hadn't done anyway. It didn't matter.

But that wasn't true.

It _mattered_. She _did_ care.

She didn't want to be locked up and put on trial--hah, _trial_ , what a joke, she'd been found guilty without one--for something she never did and never would do. She didn't want to be remembered as a traitor, even if it was already probably too late.

Beyond the low perimeter wall, the horizon burned gold and red under a swirling haze of blue-tinted clouds. It would have been stunningly beautiful, if Riella hadn't recognized the unmistakable aftermath of a battlefield on fire. Instead of being a pleasant view, the blur of color only served as a reminder of the hell their planet had turned into, and the war she couldn't get away from no matter how far she ran. In the face of it, she felt small and vulnerable and helpless, and so tired it hurt.

For a single treacherous second, she allowed herself to imagine walking away from it all. Turning her back on the war, on the destruction, on the Autobots who wanted her gone anyway, and finding a new home somewhere far away from it all--if such a place still existed anymore. Finding her own space. Maybe that was the only way to make it stop.

It was a terrifying thought. How long would she survive, with old injuries that still hadn't healed, two factions of warriors happy to kill her, and no one she could trust to watch her back? She would always be afraid to sleep. She'd never be able to stop looking over her shoulder.

But how different was that from her current status? She couldn't sleep or relax anyway. Alone, at least there wouldn't be anyone watching her every move, just waiting for her to slip up so they could make her pay for the slightest mistake.

Someone was coming. She could hear the thud of heavy footsteps that signaled a good-sized Cybertronian, and movement flickered in the corner of her optic--whoever it was wasn't bothering to try to sneak up on her. Apparently someone had taken offense to having their comm ignored. She didn't turn around. It wasn't worth fighting, but she didn't have to be nice about it.

"Get it over with already," she muttered, staring at the whirling blue and orange and gold in the distance. "Wouldn't want to keep the great infallible Autobot Command waiting."

"I see you're as diplomatic as ever." Riella shot bolt upright at the voice. She knew that voice, as well as she knew anyone's. "And here I thought you'd made a part-time career out of keeping Autobot Command waiting."

She was almost afraid to turn around, knowing what she would see and dreading it all at once. When she did, her spark jumped in her chest at the sight of the massive orange and gold frame blocking her view of the way back to the base.

"...Hi, Gamma Ray."

Gamma Ray lowered herself to a knee with a barely-perceptible wince, bringing herself closer to optic level with the tiny femme. "Hello, Riella. Been a while."

It didn't make sense. Gamma Ray? What was her former sergeant doing at a base this remote? Why would they send her to see Riella? Who had thought that was a good idea?

"Wh-what-what're you doing here?" It was no more than a barely-audible gasp, and Riella hated it immediately. Why couldn't she at least sound like she was holding it together, even if she wasn't? Was she that far gone?

"I got a call." If Gamma Ray noticed Riella's tone, she gave no sign of it, sounding as matter-of-fact as she ever had in a briefing room. "Heard you might need a little backup, so here I am."

"B-backup? _Backup?_ This-this is--this is supposed to be--" Riella stammered in disbelief, a hint of reassuring anger building somewhere deep in her throat. It wasn't the flare of rage that would have fortified her against the threatening swell of emotion--it was barely a few embers of frustration--but it was enough to push through shocked speechlessness and sinking despair. "Who--who called you? Why? Was it Echo? I told her--I told her I was _done_ with the stupid head games! I'm _done!_ I'm not playing." She wrapped her arms protectively around her chest and backed up a step, trying to control the shaking. "Tell them to lock me up or kick me out already, whatever, I don't _care,_ just stop pretending anyone gives a shit what happens to me! They don't." Her words trailed off helplessly. " _You_ don't."

Gamma Ray's visor flickered in what almost, almost might have been sadness. "Hey, hey. Take it easy, Riella. I'm not here to hurt you. You know I don't like Command playing games any more than you do. I just want to talk to you. Can we do that? Talk?"

Talk? When had _that_ ever worked out well for Riella?

But it didn't seem she was going to get much of a choice. Gamma Ray didn't move any closer, but she showed no sign of leaving, either. She simply waited, silent and patient, never looking away despite the obvious, escalating tension.

"What's to talk about?" Riella finally gritted out, trying to harden her tone. She wasn't at all sure it had worked. "I tried. I tried _so damn hard_. And all that happened is I screwed up, and they blamed me for everything that's gone wrong since--since--they _blamed me._ They're _always_ going to blame me. It's _never_ going to go away. I'll be watched and threatened and interrogated every time I move forever. Where were you then? _Where were you_? You want to talk to someone, talk to _them_! I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to talk about _anything_ anymore. I want it all to _end_!" To her embarrassment, the last word came out as something dangerously close to a wail.

"I know you do." She had never heard Gamma Ray sound so gentle before. It sounded as if her former sergeant was having her own problems controlling her voice. "And you're right. I should have been here a long time ago."

She couldn't keep up that little spark of anger in the face of Gamma Ray's quiet words. "Wh-where _were_ you?" Her voice quavered dangerously. "Where--where were you? I--I--" She couldn't force out the words needed you. "Why didn't you--why didn't you come sooner?"

"There's no good excuse." For the first time in the conversation, Gamma Ray looked away. The visor didn't hide her clear discomfort. "I sent a message asking when I could see you when I first found out you'd been...shipped off-base for a while." That was a surprisingly diplomatic way of saying _kicked out of the Autobots._ "The mech I spoke to told me it wasn't allowed, and like an idiot I believed him. I should have asked again, or come anyway. Truth is..." She met Riella's optics again. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me, after the fight we had when you woke up. Being told it wasn't allowed was a good excuse."

Riella didn't want to remember that fight, either. She didn't want to remember anything about that day. She did, of course. Why couldn't the corrupted memories have been ones she didn't want?

When she didn't speak, Gamma Ray went on. "I understand why you're upset. I'd be too, in your position. I can't undo it, much as I'd like to."

"Then why are you here?" Riella bit her glossa too late. It was a harsh way to respond to an apology, and she knew it, but the words were already spilling out. "You can't make it better. No one can. I can't be fixed, and I want everyone to _stop trying._ Are you just here to rub it in?"

"No." Gamma Ray shifted her weight and grimaced. Maybe her old knee injury was still hurting her; Riella felt the slightest twinge of guilt for how long Gamma Ray had had to kneel. "You still need help, Riella. I can't go back and do what I should have done, but that doesn't make it right for me to ignore you now."

"I don't want help." Riella scuffed a heel along the ground, feeling the tension ripple up sore leg cables. She was tired. So tired. "I want it to stop. You can't make it stop."

"You're right. I can't," Gamma Ray conceded. "I can't undo what's been done, or hasn't been. I can't guarantee you'll sleep at night." At what must have been a visible startled reaction, she nodded. "I know, Riella. We all have nightmares. I have my own. I can't make yours go away. But I can offer you a safe place to have them."

"That doesn't exist anymore." Riella jabbed a finger in the direction of the swirling energon-smoke clouds, now shading toward dark blue as the light faded. "In case you hadn't noticed. Nowhere's safe."

"From the war. But are you really saying you wouldn't sleep better in a base where you know your boss has your back? I'm based out of Nova Cronum now, tiny place, no major missions, barely anyone higher-ranking than I am."

"You're--are you saying you want me to come with you?" Her legs were starting to shake. She hadn't realized how much her frame ached until she stood still for a while. "That's not--it wouldn't fix anything."

"Why not?" Gamma Ray grunted, shifted her weight again, and sat down all the way, resting her elbows on her thighs. "Ah, I'm too old for this. I'm on your side, whether you believe it or not, and I've let you down enough. There's enough mechs that owe me favors; I can get you transferred. I can't promise you'll never have a run-in with anyone who reports to Command, especially knowing the way you handle things, but I think it's about time you had someone running a little interference for you. Will it fix anything? Maybe, maybe not, but I know you'll have a better chance to get past this if you have the space to rest while you do it."

Space. Rest. That sounded like an impossible, unattainable dream. The last faint vestiges of Riella's anger faded in the face of the slightest hint of possibility--not quite hope, not yet, but maybe, just maybe--

"They're not--they won't let you do that." If it seemed to be too good to be true, it probably was. "They're not going to let you just move me. Prime reassigned me and told me it was over and next thing I knew Smokescreen made sessions with one of his--his underlings mandatory again. I left that base and now Echo won't leave me alone. You can't make them stop."

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't, but is that really going to make it worse?" Gamma Ray lifted a massive shoulder in a light shrug. "I won't force you to do anything. You've had enough of that. But how much worse can it really be? If all I can do is buffer it once in a while, isn't that still better than nothing at all?"

Riella hated it when Gamma Ray pointed out the inconveniently reasonable solution. She'd hated it before Vos, and she hated it even more now. But Gamma Ray had a point.

It was a better option than changing nothing. And she had to admit, it was also a better option than going it alone--or at least, it had a higher survival rate. As hard as it was to keep going, when it came right down to it, she didn't want to die.

Yet.

"...How long would it take?" She looked down at the ground, scuffing her heel in the dirt again. "Because even if they let you do it now, they won't let you do it once Echo reports in that I yelled at her. They'll have me locked up again before you have time to sign the paperwork."

"Echo called me, remember?" Gamma Ray shifted until she could get a knee under herself and slowly began to work her way upright. "She's not gonna call it in unless she has to. Just because some mechs have it out for you doesn't mean they all do. Besides, I told you, I can call in some favors. It'll take a few days, but I can have you transferred out by the time I leave, and take you with me. So what do you say? I know it's not going to be the same as putting our old team back together. Nothing could. But do you think we could give this one more try before you call it quits?"

"Wh--how did you--" Riella stammered and stared wide-eyed at Gamma Ray. "I didn't say anything about leaving."

"You're standing at the absolute edge of base territory staring off at the horizon, every conversation someone has had with you in the last forty hours included the words 'I just want it to end', and you're convinced that they'll never leave you alone as long as you stay an Autobot. Doesn't take a telepath to know you're thinking about alternate solutions. And I don't blame you, but I don't want to see you go, either." Gamma Ray's expression sobered from what might have been amusement. "I realize we haven't been close in a long time, but you're still the only one left of our team, and I don't want to lose you if I can help it."

Damnit. She couldn't deny the little tug of emotion that came with that. After everything, someone didn't want to lose her.

"Wh-what if I screw up again?"

"Then we'll pick you back up and keep going, like we should have been doing all along." Gamma Ray rose abruptly, startling Riella into taking a nervous step back. "Easy, take it easy. Sun's down, and we shouldn't be out here in the dark. You don't have to decide tonight."

"No, I--I--" Riella swallowed hard and forced herself to move back to her original position, despite the jump of panic in her spark. "I'll go. I'll go with you." It came out all in a shaky rush, and her voice broke in something dangerously close to a sob. "I don't want--I don't want to stay here anymore, I can't, and I don't want to leave but I don't have anywhere else to go and--"

"Easy, Riella, easy. C'mere." Gamma Ray offered a massive hand. "It's going to be fine. Come here."

She couldn't help it. She stumbled forward into Gamma Ray's hand, shaking, and clung for dear life as Gamma Ray lifted her up to a broad shoulder. She wasn't sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all. Apologies? Explanations? Promises to do better? Nothing seemed fitting.

"I--I--"

"Hey." Gamma Ray cut her off with a gentle helm-shake and started toward the base. "It's fine. You've had a long...well, few years, actually. Relax."

For a moment, relaxing actually seemed possible. Riella couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

Relax.

"...Thanks." It was the only thing she could think to say. "I--"

"You're welcome." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only drabble in this set that has never been posted on Tumblr; the previous two needed something to wrap up that storyline and never got it, so this one is a bonus.


	7. Trigger pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features some non-graphic flashbacks to torture, as does part 2 in the next chapter, since it's basically a lengthy study of a PTSD trigger; I'd recommend skipping both if that's not your thing.
> 
> There's also a brief appearance from Blackout, as interpreted by and borrowed from http://thesoundlessvoid.tumblr.com/ with permission.

Construction really isn’t Riella’s strong suit. She’s never been good at building things, and while she’s not bad at breaking them, she’s too small to be very effective. There’s one thing she can do, though, and that’s fit through spaces the average construction mech can’t. It comes in handy times like this, three floors up, when for whatever reason the material they might get out of this building is too valuable to just blast through.

“Be careful, Riella.” She can barely hear Gamma Ray’s voice; she’s probably the equivalent of two rooms away, though it’s impossible to tell what might be walls and what’s just the result of accumulated debris. This building must have been bombed back during the war.

“I’m fine,” she calls back, turning her attention back to her job. If she can clear enough of a path for the bigger mechs to get through, they can clean out this floor without her help. “Give me a minute. I’ve got a door here I can’t get through. You can come on through up to that point; I think it’s jammed from the other side. I’m gonna try to squeeze through and unjam it.”

It takes a lot of crawling and wiggling to get around the door through the gap in the wall. The close space is horribly unnerving, even though she knows very well she can turn around and get back out anytime she needs to. She can do this. At least there’s light, seeping in from the cracks in the ceiling and the opposite wall. Knocking aside the slab of concrete currently braced against the door takes most of her attention, anyway, even once she gets out into a slightly more open space. She only turns to see what’s in the room, if anything, once it topples just far enough out of the way for the door to swing free.

Gamma Ray had mentioned that this building had been a hospital, once. It looks like it. There’s what used to be a console along the right wall, and a flat slab of metal, broken across the middle, that looks like it could have been a berth once. Morbidly curious, she climbs over a jagged structural beam to get a better look. The first thing her optics settle on is the short length of chain hanging from one corner, with what looks like a padded metal loop on the end.

Restraints. Those are  _restraints_. Were. Past tense. Not anymore.

She finds her right hand wrapped around her left wrist, fingers compulsively rubbing at long-vanished wounds. She can still feel them, rough raw tears in thin metal, gouges that left ugly rings of scars from mid-forearm to palm. They’re gone, on her outer armor at least–there might still be marks on the protoform underneath. They’ve been gone for decades. And yet, when she stares at that dangling, worn-out cuff, her forearms burn.

She should go. She doesn’t want to be in here anymore. She’s standing clear of the debris, with plenty of room to move in any direction she wants, but she’s frozen. She’s suffocating.

_Why won’t you talk to me, Riella? You’re making this so much more complicated than it needs to be._

_Why would they leave you alive? What aren’t you telling me?_

It’s only a memory. Well, more than one, if she’s being technical, and that’s enough to prove it.  She needs to get out of this room. Her job is done, and there’s no reason for her to hang around in an old burned-out shell of a room anymore.

She’s alone. No one is touching her, no one possibly can be. She can still feel hands on her wrists, someone’s weight on her chest, holding her down, trapping her against cold metal. Stabbing memories of pain travel up from her sides, hints of cracked rib struts and splintered plating. For a split-second, static flashes across her optics, and she sways, abruptly dizzy and shaken.

_Don’t make this so hard on yourself. Fighting has never done you any good._

Her fingertips dig into her wrist so hard it hurts. She can’t turn her head away, even though she wants to. Part of her wants to scream. The other part knows that it won’t do any good. Somewhere in the back of her processor, something tells her there’s no reason to scream, that she’s alone in the room and frankly she’s making an idiot of herself, but it’s not a very convincing voice.

_This would be so much easier for everyone if you’d cooperate, Riella. You never were good at that._

_Are you listening to me? Don’t go to sleep on me just yet. I’d really prefer you awake for this._

Her helm pounds. The floor might actually be moving, but it might just be her unsteady knees. The urge to scream is rising. She wants to call for help, someone, anyone, but who would come?

It’s not real. It’s just a construction site. She needs to leave.

_You know no one’s coming for you. Nobody’s even wondering where you are. It’s not going to do you any good._

_I can help you, Riella. No one else is going to, but I can._

_Riella?_

“Riella, are you all right?”

She jumps as the entire wall comes down, the floor shuddering. Gamma Ray pushes her way through, dust-covered and frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, nothing.” Riella shakes her head sharply again and straightens up, looking back at the destroyed wall. So much for saving the material. “Door’s  _open_ , y'know. I said I’d get it.”

Gamma Ray looks from Riella to the broken berth remnants and back again, and her frown softens. “Right. I must not have heard you call it back. Listen, I think we’re done here for the day. I’m gonna have to get someone to prop up this floor before we start seeing what we can salvage, so why don’t you take off early? No offense, but I’m not sure how much help you’ll be with that part.”

Riella appreciates Gamma Ray’s attempt at sidestepping the obvious, at least, but if she runs, it’s going to make it obvious to anyone that something went wrong. “Thanks, but…I’m good. They’re doing salvage in the connected building, right? I can sort scrap. Still need all hands on deck, right?”

“Right.” Gamma Ray doesn’t look happy about it. If anything, she looks concerned. Riella would have assumed she’d appreciate the extra help. “If you’re sure you want to, go for it. Check in with Takedown and tell him I sent you, and comm me before you leave tonight.”

“Sure. When don’t I?” Riella shrugs a shoulder and forces herself to walk away at a normal pace. She wants to run, really–she wants to sprint and not look back–but she suspects Gamma Ray already knows something’s wrong, and that would only confirm it.

She can’t quite make herself let go of her wrist, though. Her fingers stay curled tightly around it, rubbing at imaginary scars, until she’s out of the building and back on solid ground.

In the end, she leaves a few minutes early anyway, only stopping long enough to tell Gamma Ray that she’d be out of town for a few days, and calls Blackout for a ride to the aerie. If he notices her fidgeting more than usual, or spending more time huddled up to him, he’s kind enough not to comment; she distracts herself with hugs and chitchat about the changes he’s made to the aerie and the good high-grade she brought with her, and pretends there’s no reason for her visit. When they curl up for sleep, Riella nuzzles into his side and wraps an extra blanket around herself, hoping that the warmth will keep away the fear she still hasn’t managed to shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here on Tumblr: http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/163962068246/trigger-part-one
> 
> We've been shipping Blackout and Riella together for a while now, so he's started showing up even in fics that aren't focused on their relationship. The actual romantic drabbles are posted elsewhere, but there's still some overlap with non-romantic scenarios.


	8. Trigger pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further trigger warning on this one for non-graphic flashbacks to torture and implied sexual assault, just in case. If you skipped the last one, you should definitely skip this one too.
> 
> Blackout shows up in this one as well, for the same reason as the last one.

When she finally does sleep, there's nothing peaceful about it.

She can't move. She can't catch a steady vent. She can barely see--one optic is still working, sort of, but she can't keep it open, blinded by bright light, and the other only occasionally spits static across a black background. It doesn't matter, she thinks. She knows what she'll see if she looks, and she doesn't want to.

She doesn't have to. Sometimes they turn off her pain receptors, let her wonder what's going on. They didn't this time.

Her wrists and ankles are torn down to the strut from struggling. Raw, shredded wounds scrape against heavy rough cuffs every time she moves, wearing away metal at the slightest twitch, energon dyeing what's left of her hands and forearms and the restraints bright blue. It's agonizing, and yet it barely registers through the overwhelming pain of cracking armor and tearing protoform.

Warnings flash across what little is left of her HUD and disappear immediately, bursts of red and white alerts screaming about energon loss, shattered struts, T-cog malfunctions. She thrashes, panicked, some long-lost survival instinct kicking in, or maybe it's just that she wants him _gone_ , away from her, no matter what it takes--but it's not doing any good. It never does.

Her vocalizer stutters, catches, and dies in mid-scream no matter how desperately she tries to make some sound, something, anything, in the vain hope that someone sympathetic will hear. They won't, she knows that, but silence will kill her. She already can't speak. It's too much.

She chokes, energon catching in her throat and her vents and the back of her mouth. She's suffocating, smothering, drowning, and there's nothing to grab on to but the restraints and the weight that she so desperately wants _off_ her.

Now she can't even call for help. No one's coming. She killed her last friend, and now there's no one else to hear her even if she wasn't silent now. There's no way out. There's no help. She can't get away. It's never going to end.

She comes out of sleep screaming her vocalizer hoarse, thrashing and twisting away from the feeling of hands clawing at her and metal pinning her down. She can't get up. The surface under her is soft, not good for getting up, not enough traction even if she could get her feet under her, and she can't, she can barely struggle to her knees.

There's a flash of red and blue somewhere off to her side, close, _too close_ \--instinctively, she lashes out, swinging blindly at the red until her knuckles connect with metal hard enough to sting. A grunt of pain barely penetrates through the haze of terror and panic, and her vision starts to clear as the lights pull back out of her line of sight.

She's panting, gasping for air, wrists and ankles and mouth burning even though she knows there's nothing there anymore, nothing she could have torn her plating raw fighting against. She's shaking, too, so violently she can barely keep herself on hands and knees. When she tries to sit up, she retches painfully, doubling over, though nothing comes up.

The blankets shift under her as she moves, making her wobble and almost fall. There's nothing stable to cling to, and even though she knows she's awake now she still feels like she's falling. If she moves too much, she's afraid the ground will shift and fling her down again. Even lifting her head makes her feel unsteady, dizzy, vulnerable. She's still fighting to get even one steady breath, vents rasping hoarsely. It takes a long, long moment for her to realize that she's sobbing, too, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face and dripping onto the blanket.

When she lifts her head, she sees Blackout crouched a yard or two away, just barely in reach, watching her. He's frowning, she realizes. He looks unhappy, worried, maybe even a little guilty. She should say something, tell him she's okay, stop _fucking_ crying and tell him she's fine...

_Red. Red optic_. Panic flashes through her spark, and she flinches back, nearly falling, before she realizes. She wasn't hallucinating, before, it was him. She hit him. _She hit him._

She can't speak. Maybe it's because of all the screaming, maybe she just can't find the words, maybe she's crying too hard, but she can't even find the words to tell him she's sorry, that she didn't mean it, that it was just a bad dream and she's sorry.

She forces herself to inch forward, trembling, swaying, and reaches out for the hand closest to her. Blackout takes her hand, gently, but waits for her to speak.

Signing is hard with shaking fingers, and there are a few false starts before Riella manages one word, then two. _|i'm sorry,|_ she signs, watching tears drip onto the blankets beneath her rather than try to look at him. _|i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry|_

His other hand reaches out before she even gets through the first few words, wrapping around her back and scooping her up like a stray cyber-kitten. "I know, baby, I know," he soothes, cradling her against the top of his chest just below his neck. "I know. It's okay."

Riella's arms wrap around his neck, or what she can reach of it, without any conscious thought on her part. She buries her face in his chest, breathes in his scent, leans her cheek against warm metal-- _safe, safe, he's safe, she's safe_ \--and suddenly she's sobbing so hard it feels like she might completely fly apart.

Blackout holds her through it, making soft comforting noises that might be words or might not, she can't tell. She doesn't quite know how long she stays like that, crying into his shoulder, but when she finally calms, she's utterly drained, so tired she thinks she could curl up right where she is and sleep for days.

She doesn't have to say it. Blackout cradles her carefully as he settles down, on his back this time, with Riella tucked against his chest with her head resting just below his neck. She clings to him, desperate for some kind of contact to ground her, afraid that if she lets go for a second she'll slip back into the nightmare. He responds by folding a hand over her back, quiet and solid and reassuring. She can feel him purring under her, a warm rumble that settles straight into her spark.

"Don't leave me," she rasps, the words spilling out against her will. It comes out so hoarse and broken she's not even sure it sounds like words. "Please. _Please_."

For a moment, she thinks--hopes--he didn't hear her, but then his hand shifts to hold her a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere, baby girl," he murmurs against the top of her head. "It's okay. I got you."

Riella buries her face in the hollow of his throat and lets herself go limp against him. She's still trembling, still shaken to the core, but held safely close to Blackout's chest, with his vents warm against her plating--maybe she can sleep again.

Maybe this time she can actually sleep. Maybe he'll keep the nightmares away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here on Tumblr: http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/163965920361/trigger-part-two


	9. Sarcastic Ghosts

She knows what this dream will be even before the silent dark expanse swirls into view in front of her, and she knows she'll see one of them if she turns around. She just doesn't know who.

After the week she's had, she supposes she shouldn't be surprised. She's never quite been sure what this nightmare is, if there's some sort of twisted reality to it or it's all in her head, but it always happens after she's had to talk about Vos.

"Are you here to remind me I got you killed?"

"Nope." Delta shimmers into view, looking exactly the way he did the last time she saw him--dents and scratches and all. He looks solid enough to touch. "From where I sit, you're doing that just fine all by yourself. It's been how many years, now, and you still won't be talked out of it."

Riella looks away, unwilling to meet his optics even in a dream. "What's there to talk me out of? It was my fault."

"Oh, for Primus' sake, Riella, you are not the sole cause of death in the universe." Delta sits down and folds his arms over his chest. Riella can't quite tell what he's sitting on--everything is murky darkness, except for him. "Stop being so dramatic. You didn't set off the explosives or pull the trigger."

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been me," Riella protests, helm jerking up to look him in the face--though she still can't meet his optics. "I didn't want anyone to die to save me. I didn't want you to die for me!"

"And if that were something you had any say in, I would have taken your opinion into account," Delta says dryly. "It was my call and you know it. You didn't get anyone killed—I don’t care who told you what, it wasn’t your fault--and you'd be doing the universe a favor if you'd knock off the self-pity. You lived through the war and you get to keep living. You have a partner and a home. You can't undo what happened, but you can move the hell on."

"Move on?" Riella stumbles over the words. "I can't--I can't forget you, or Melody, or Electron--You should still be here. Gamma Ray--"

"Does not hate you," Delta interjects wryly. "Hates your attitude, at most."

"I know she doesn't hate me." It doesn't sound very convincing, even to her. "She hates Blackout, and my decision-making, and the fact that I got you killed, but not me."

"For the love of Primus, Riella, drop the 'I-got-you-killed' bullshit already. She doesn't hate you, and if she hates your partner, it's because she's worried about you. It's not because you're not allowed to be happy. If you don't want to move on, that's on you, not her."

Riella turned her head away with a huff, trying to ignore how close to home that hit. "You're a figment of my imagination. What do you know about it?"

"I guess that's one way to look at it." Delta's voice echoes, as if he's speaking from further away now. "Or you could say that maybe, just maybe, your imagination knows you pretty well and might give decent advice once in a while. Go back to--Blackout, was it?--and stop worrying about us. We're fine." By the end of the sentence, his voice is fading, and Riella's head jerks up in concern.

"Wait, don't..." Don't what? Don't go? Delta's already gone, and she can't very well beg a ghost her imagination has conjured up to stay.

"We're fine," Delta repeats. His voice is about all that's left of him, and even that is fading away. "Move on, for Primus' sake. We're fine."

When she wakes up, she doesn't remember much of the dream. Usually that would be a relief. This time, she's not sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here on Tumblr: http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/173804960726/she-knows-what-this-dream-will-be-even-before-the


	10. Coping Methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was posted during/in reaction to a multi-person event, hence the references to Blackout and Grindor and something awful happening. 
> 
> Warnings for Riella's atrocious coping methods involving picking fights with people she can't beat and lots of descriptions of violence. Also, it's long enough that it was originally posted in two parts.

She's always found emotions hard to define. Most of the time she's not even sure if there is a word for what she's feeling--and if there is, she's never sure if it really fits or not.

But this, she has words for.

Helpless.

Alone.

Angry.

It's cold anger, but it's still there, under what feels like so much hurt it's physically weighing her down. She couldn't save Blackout. She can't fix this. There's no going back, no undoing this damage, no matter what she does from here on out.

Someone needs to _pay_ for that.

The war's over. Grindor's out of reach. But that doesn't mean she can't find someone to hit. Or, for that matter, someone to hit her, because she’s not particular about _who_ gets hit as long as someone does.

She's known about the fight circuits for a long time. Everyone does. Most of them sprung up right after the war, and some of them before the treaties were even signed. After all, she's hardly the only one to have some trouble figuring out what life is like when no one is stabbing anyone else.

They're not hard to find, for someone who knows what they're looking for, and Riella does.

She tucks her badge into subspace before actually entering the unassuming, back-alley bar that serves as a cover for one of the bigger rings. There isn't technically a rule against wearing it, but it's Not Done here, and she'll be remembered if she keeps it on.

Tonight, she wants to be as invisible as possible for someone who plans to leave with bloody weapons and a few fresh dents.

The bar is crowded with mechs of all sizes, most of them with accents from places other than Iacon, a handful of them already sporting fresh cuts and dents that don't look accidental. It's early, but it seems like the less-than-legal entertainment has already started. That, or she missed one hell of a bar fight.

She weaves her way through the crowd without acknowledging anyone, optics fixed on the side door with an unobtrusive, but burly, mech standing beside it. He's actually rather subtle, given that he's undoubtedly a bouncer for an underground fight circuit--he doesn't acknowledge her existence, either, until she reaches up to push the door open.

"You're kinda small for that, little 'un. How about you grab a drink and leave the entertainment to the professionals?"

Most nights, Riella would do exactly that. He has a point. This isn't most nights.

"I'm as professional as the last mech who walked through that door." She keeps her voice level and her hands at her sides. Every cable in her frame feels taut enough to snap. Her processor is practically screaming at her to prove to him that she's entirely capable of killing anyone she wants.

Anyone except the one who really needs to die. She can't kill  _him_ and she hates it.

"Unless they've instituted a height requirement and forgot to mention it, get the hell out of my way."

The mech laughs, but moves anyway. She brushes past him without another word, hands still firmly at her sides. She can taste energon--she must have bitten through the inside of her lip.

He wasn't worth it, she tells herself all the way down the stairs. He wasn't worth it. None of them are worth it. She can hit someone under controlled circumstances. Out here, like this, she'll kill someone, and the fallout from that won't fix anything.

It's a big ring, she notes with some approval. Some of these circuits are little more than cage fights, and she doesn't stand a chance against a big opponent in those. This one, though, this looks like someone had wanted to replicate a gladiatorial arena. It's nothing compared to the arena ruins she's seen aboveground, but it expands out further than the bar above it, with a double ring of fencing to keep the crowd from getting too close to the edge.

It'll be easier to win here. She'll have room to dodge and build up some speed.

But if she's being honest, even the prospect of a fight in a tiny cage that she has no hope of winning wouldn't dissuade her now. After all, the point is to hit someone, not to win.

And if she gets hit back harder, well, that's business as usual these days, isn't it?

She works her way up to the very edge of the ring, elbowing bigger mechs out of her way without thinking about it, and studies the currently ongoing fight with disinterested coolness. The two mechs in the arena are big, with heavy armor and solid weapons, but at first glance they don't strike her as dangerous. The lighter one has the bright gold and black striping of a construction worker overlaid on dull red plating, and the other's gray and green bears the dents of years of heavy lifting. Gray and green, at least, is no warrior; his 'tactics' consist of trying to use his weight to batter the other into submission. He's carrying a heavy blunt blade, but he's clumsy with it. Probably more accustomed to guns.

The red mech, though--compared to his opponent, he at least knows what he's doing. He's got the armor to take a few hits, and it's obvious he already has, since he's favoring his left leg, but he's fast enough to dodge the ones that would have really hurt. He doesn't have a blade, only a heavy pole, but he's good with it.

Not as good as the mech Riella learned staff fighting from, of course. His balance is wrong and he fumbles occasionally when he switches hands.

All that said, though, the skill difference is clear and it's not exactly an even fight. Only one of the mechs in the ring knows how to fight hand-to-hand. It's over in a few moments, Gray-and-green pinned to the floor by Red's foot and the crowd roaring with applause.

Yes. She can handle him.

She works her way over to the mech at the gate, ducking out of the way of two massive bots with 'medic' brands on each shoulder. Probably there to help the loser out of the ring; after all, while these aren't kill fights, they don't end until someone either concedes or stops getting up, and she didn't hear any conceding.

"Hey!" She has to yell to get the gate attendant's attention. "Hey. I want in."

The gate attendant looks around exaggeratedly before dropping to one knee to talk to her. It's not strictly necessary. He's not that tall. "You sure about that?"

Riella looks him straight in the optic and refuses to flinch away. "Do I sound unsure?" It comes out completely flat and emotionless. Her hands stay perfectly still at her sides, one curled into a fist and the other open.

The attendant looks her over, rolls his optics, and stands up. "Ah, fine. Not like we've had a lot of competition tonight anyway. Pick your weapon." He gestures to the rack in between the double fencing walls, where an assistant is busy replacing Gray-and-green's blunt sword. Riella shakes her head.

"Brought my own."

"No guns." The attendant raises a dubious brow ridge. "No poisons, no explosives. Fight clean."

Riella shrugs noncommittally and offers one blade for inspection. She's not carrying anything other than standard knives tonight. Killing someone isn't really the point. Picking a fight is.

The attendant looks it over for a minute too long, but eventually hands it back and swings the gate open for her. "Keep it clean. Either one of you can concede at any time. No hits after a concession or after someone stops getting up. No fatalities."

She waves him off and steps into the ring, listening to the sound of the gate slamming behind her instead of the yelling from the crowd.

 

Blue smears on the floor warn her of slick energon patches. She makes a mental note to avoid those if she can--in sand, it wouldn't hurt anything, but on bare metal, she'll lose her footing. Otherwise, there's no obstacles, except the fencing. It's a nice open space with plenty of room to maneuver.

Up close, Red is probably twice Riella's height, maybe a little less, and if she had to guess his alt-mode, she'd peg him as an average-sized grounder maybe four or five times her weight. He's still favoring his left leg, but it's so subtle he probably doesn't even realize what he's doing. There's no sign of open wounds, so the energon probably isn't his, and while he has a few dramatic dents, they're not in critical locations. They're the kind some mechs like to show off at the bar--they look good, but they're harmless.

She doesn't recognize him. That's good. She wants someone anonymous, someone whose face she won't remember no matter what damage she does to him.

There's a few sparkbeats of absolute silence as the two of them size each other up, and then everything explodes into motion.

He moves faster than she'd expected, staff sweeping down hard toward her right ankle while his free hand snaps out to prevent her from side-stepping. It's too early to be on the defensive, she thinks, barely even registering her reaction until she's already made the jump back and lashed out with the knife in her left hand to force him to redirect or block with nothing but his armor. The easiest next step would be to get out of his reach--

\--but she's not here to avoid injury, she's here to hit someone.

She lands balanced on her good leg and immediately lunges forward in the split-second before he can straighten up, flipping her knife back to reverse-grip on the way. Blue knuckles and the short, sharp blade behind them gouge a jagged line along his abdominal plating, leaving a trail of faintly glowing energon behind.

It feels _good_.

She doesn't get time to appreciate it, because his knee jerks straight up and smashes into her chest, lifting her completely off her feet and throwing her several yards away. She doesn't feel the landing, skipping straight to realizing that she's on her back, staring at the ceiling, struggling to cough out the energon she can taste in the back of her throat.

Something's definitely broken. Maybe two somethings.

All right, maybe three.

"You done?"

It's her opponent, stalking toward her. It can't have been more than a few seconds.

She lifts her head enough to see the energon running down his abdomen and one leg, and feels a grin rise, unbidden. His face twists in what might be either pain or annoyance. "Stay down."

_Stay down._

If there's any set of words guaranteed to make her want to do the exact opposite, it's those.

The burn of snapped struts and cracked plating feels good, too, in its own twisted way. She's laser-focused now, every thought, every instinct pointed at winning the fight

Everything happens in slow motion. His foot lifts, ready to slam down and pin her. She rolls--agony slicing through her broken chest struts--gets one hand under her, and pushes, with what feels like all the strength she has left.

It's enough. Just barely, but it's enough. She comes up on one knee, facing the red mech, and spits out a mouthful of energon. "Make me."

He's smarter this time. He comes in fast and low, staff sweeping hard left-to-right at shoulder height, where her injuries limit her flexibility and keep her from dodging. She yanks a second knife, braces herself on her good leg, and pivots to catch the staff in an X-crossed block.

It's not enough. She stops the weapon, but the blow is too much, and suddenly she's sliding backward, pain stabbing through her chest and arms and back even after she disengages both blades and stumbles out of the way of another swing. She doesn't have the strength to hold him off.

So her only option is to take him down.

She drops to a knee, sliding under another blow, and lunges back to her feet just a few yards out of his reach. One more hit and she's not getting back up. This has to count.

She might have screamed as she throws herself back across the ring, meeting his charge with one of her own. She's not quite sure. Her audios are ringing and there's static streaking across her vision.

The blade in her left hand catches and drags, ripping through what she can only hope is the cable she had in mind. There's no time to wonder. He's learned from the last time she got in close, and his arm snaps down as soon as she tries to duck under the blow.

One optic goes black, then flickers with brilliant, blinding static. She lands on hands and knees, hard, choking and coughing out energon. She can't feel the side of her face. It's probably for the best.

Behind her, her opponent stumbles, and a heavy, clattering thud signals he's landed on the floor.

Get _up_ , she has to _get up_. Riella fights to get her feet back under her, but she can barely balance on all fours. She ends up crumpling onto her side, staring at the energon dripping onto the floor.

Her cheek is starting to burn, prickles of hot agony stabbing through her neck and face. He'd punched straight down, she realizes as her vision starts to clear. Her jaw might be cracked, or just pushed out of alignment, she's not sure, but the thin metal of her cheek has been crumpled around the strut. She's lucky he missed her optic.

It's only been a few seconds. She can see the red mech struggling to get up, and falling back. She has to get back up or she loses the fight.

Her opponent can't get his legs back under him. His hip is torn open along an armor gap, energon spilling onto the floor and pooling under his leg, and when he nearly pushes himself up on one knee, the joint gives out and dumps him back on the floor.

Riella can't help a crooked, bloodstained grin. Weight-bearing cables have always been a convenient target. It's not a severe injury, but it'll keep him down. Worth the effort.

Or at least, it will be, if she can _just get up._

Her hands are shaking and every movement sends stabs of pain through her chest and jaw, but she twists until she can get a knee back under her and push herself up, one agonizing inch at a time. It feels like it takes forever, but it can't be more than half a minute before she gets her good foot braced against the floor and shoves herself straight up. Her chest throbs so badly she can barely see straight, and she's not sure she'll be able to talk clearly until her jaw is back in place, but she's standing.

She stares across the energon-stained floor at her opponent, still trying to get back on his knees, and grits out a smug, "Stay down."

The red mech glares back at her for a few painfully long sparkbeats, before the glare breaks down into a rueful, pained grimace and he raises a hand in the two-fingered concession gesture. "Fair win. Not bad, kid."

The noise from the crowd creeps back in, drowning out any retort Riella might have wanted to make. It doesn't matter. She won.

It feels good, pain and all.

She backs off and waves off the medic who tries to offer her an arm. She probably needs someone to look at her injuries. They're serious enough she knows they won't let her stay in the ring.

But she doesn't want any help just yet. It hurts, but she won. And she did it by herself. She didn't have to lean on someone else to rescue her. She wasn't helpless. She's not ready to give that up.

So she limps out of the ring by herself, and weaves through the crowd toward the stairs without waiting for the medics. It's easier this time. Maybe it's because of her injuries, but she's being given a wider berth instead of having to push her way through.

That feels good, too.

The evening air outside the bar is icy cold, sending little stabs of pain through her face and the cracks in her chest. She's still on high alert, every shadow catching her attention--though some of those aren't real, just static from her injuries. She's not quite sure if the echoing footsteps in the distance are sounds from the road, or her audios still ringing.

She remembers nights like this during the war, alone on a patrol shift with a couple of painkillers because there wasn't anyone uninjured to send. It's familiar, and in a way, reassuring.

Maybe she'll have to do this again once everything heals up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in two places: http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/168836591551/coping-methods-pt-1 and http://autobot-scout-riella.tumblr.com/post/168836722376/coping-methods-pt-2


	11. Oversharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from when Riella started catching feelings for a Decepticon she had a one-night stand with (long story), so there's heavy hints of Blackout/Riella here. Warnings-wise, it's heavily suggestive (though not outright R-rated) and Riella's completely hammered through the entire conversation.
> 
> Also, it's a very old piece and I barely edited it, so it's not my best work. It's here anyway.

Some nights, Riella just needed to  _drink_.

Even well away from Cybertron, it wasn’t hard to find a bar that served decent high-grade and didn’t look overly sketchy. Riella grabbed a seat off in a corner, caught the bartender’s attention, and set about getting as drunk as possible in as little time as possible.

At least her commline had stopped pinging with messages from Gamma Ray, though she wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not. If mechs were going to ask her personal questions, she would  _much_  rather be blackout drunk.

Heh. ‘Blackout’ drunk.

….Okay, she’d clearly had enough high-grade to make bad jokes. That was step one. Step two was getting drunk enough to think they were hilarious, and to forget about the worrying emotions that were starting to crop up around the Decepticon.

She was  _just_  about there when someone tall, green, and oddly familiar dropped into the seat beside her. “Hello, Riella. It’s been a while.”

“Echo.” Riella groaned, let her head drop back, and reached for another cube. “You know, ’s been a while for a  _reason_. What’d'ya want?”

“Do I have to want something? I just thought I’d say hello.” Echo settled in and took a sip of her own cube, glancing at the three Riella had already finished with a quirked eyebrow. “Looks like someone’s had a stressful night.”

“Like you wouldn’t  _believe_.” Riella downed another gulp of high-grade and swayed a little bit in her chair. “You ever have a day where y’  _wanna_  say something, but y’  _can’t,_  and then y’ say the wrong thing? And then you figure out you’re maybe _feeling_ th’ wrong thing, but it won’t go away?”

“Pretty sure everyone has those.” Echo offered a wry smile. “Who’d you tell off this time?”

“Nobody.” Where had that cube gone? Riella drained the last of it and reached for another. “Y'know Blackout? Really big Decepticon with…rotors and…” She gestured vaguely up over her head. “Big. And claws. And a tongue stud.”

“The name sounds familiar, but no.” The medic’s expression was unreadable. Maybe that was the high-grade.

“He’s not s’ bad.” Riella stared into her cube. “Actu'lly, he’s  _good._ Really good at a lot of things that I didn’t think people  _got_ that good at. Creative, y'know what I mean? And lots'f experience. And not shy about putting his mouth places. Did I mention the tongue stud? 'Cause I meant to mention that, but there are some people you don’t mention that to.” Another drink. “Fragging. I’m talking about fragging.”

“…I got that about five sentences ago, Riella.” Echo rested her forehead in one hand and reached for her own drink with the other. “Why don’t you finish your cube and let me walk you back to your shuttle? The…sudden willingness to talk suggests you’ve had enough.”

"Yeah, yeah, not done.” Riella gulped down half the cube in one go. “An’ I  _didn’t_  say any of that when I was asked, right? So she’s asking me if I mean he’s not good, or what, and I can’t just come right out and say 'oh, he’s great in berth, 10/10, would do that again if it weren’t for the, y'know, size issue.’ And now Gamma Ray thinks he’s—not treatin’ me well.” She gestured vaguely to convey her point. “It’s not like that. I like him. I _really_ like him. And there  _is_ a size issue, but there wasn’t at the time—unintended mass shifting--and when I was bigger size was  _not_  a problem. And I think it kinda matters, even if I’ve heard ’t doesn’t…”

“ **Riella**.” Echo set her cube down and put her head in both hands. “You know what? I know telling you  _no_  doesn’t work, so I’m just going to order another drink and wait for you to talk yourself out.”

“’M just  _explaining_ ,” Riella protested. “Didn’t do a good job of saying earlier, so I’m trying now. ’S not like it’s a  _bad_ thing. I don’ _regret_ this or anything. I don’t regret _him_. I just hafta convince her of that. I mean, yeah, I might’ve been a  _little_ sore, but that is  _not_ bad. Y'think I could bribe someone t’ teach me about the voluntary kind of mass shifting? I mean, I wouldn’t mind trying the thing with the–”

“There  _is_ a happy medium between oversharing and not clarifying, Riella.” Echo made a noise that might have been a groan, still with her face resting in her hands. “And you clearly have no idea where it is.”

“–and I mean, I wouldn’t mind  _learning_  some other things, because I think I…” The fact that she’d been interrupted finally registered. Riella blinked, tilted her head, and took another gulp of high-grade. “What’d y’ say?”

“Clearly, nothing you heard.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr as a roleplay tie-in.


End file.
